Rogue World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 7)

by B. V. Larson

  First off, I’d hide. That was critical. I was supposed to appear aboard the Mogwa ship in a hold of some kind, which would’ve made stealth easier. From there, I was to learn what I could and teleport out again. How much intel I could gather in five minutes was a big question mark to me, but I hadn’t planned this boondoggle in the first place...

  Unfortunately, when my awareness returned, I wasn’t on a Mogwa ship. I wasn’t even in a teleport suit. I was somewhere else that was depressingly familiar.

  “What’s his Apgar score?”

  “He’s an eight-point-five. We’re not going to get better than that.”

  “He’s breathing. Pull the oxygen. Get his lungs working.”

  I was surrounded by bio people, orderlies and techs. A strange smell assaulted me. It was organic, wet—even hot in the nostrils. It was a smell like thick urine, maybe. I knew it all too well, it was the smell of my own rebirth.

  “McGill, can you hear me?” Graves asked.

  My mouth worked, but no words came out. I choked instead and coughed up a load of fluid from deep within my newly formed lungs.

  “McGill, damn you, there’s no time. I order you to report!”

  “He can’t even talk yet, Primus,” the bio said.

  She seemed defensive about me, but I felt gauntleted hands grasp my shoulders and haul me up onto my feet. I pitched forward and almost fell on my face.

  Graves was standing in the way. My weak fingers grasped his uniform.

  I couldn’t see yet. The world was a blur. I felt like I was underwater during a rainstorm.

  Something hard and cold touched my temple. I knew it was the muzzle of a pistol.

  “Graves?” I managed to croak out.

  The cold touch of the gun left my head.

  “You can talk? Good. We have questions.”

  “Here,” said the bio. “Here are some clothes, McGill.”

  “He won’t be needing those where he’s going,” Graves said.

  I took the clothes with floppy fingers anyway and stumbled out of the revival chamber. I started to get into the pants before a hard shove nearly knocked the clothing from my jittery hands. Graves marched me down the hallway, buck naked—my legs functioning better with each step.

  “Sir?” I managed to ask. “Is there some kind of a problem?”

  “Yes McGill,” he said angrily. “The trouble is we sent a moron up into space to perform a spying mission. Somehow, he never came back.”

  “I didn’t? How long has it been?”

  He stopped and looked at me. I could see him well enough now to make out his craggy features. His eyes—they were the color of steel and even less forgiving.

  “You screwed up,” he said. “I don’t know how, but you did it. The Mogwa have sent a transmission from the battle fleet on a deep-link call to Earth. They said a spy was apprehended after causing considerable damage to their ship.”

  “Yeah…?” I asked. “Was there a description of this madman?”

  “No. All humans look the same to them. But they did run a DNA check and flags were tripped. You were supposed to have been permed many years ago, remember?”

  “Oh yeah…” I said. “Good times!”

  “Right… Well, now we’re setting you up for another execution. It will be verified digitally and carefully choreographed. We’re transmitting this to the Mogwa ship as evidence that we’ve done the job they ordered us to do years back.”

  While he talked, I struggled to get my wet, rubbery limbs into the uniform still clutched in my hands. I always had more trouble than most people did with smart-clothes. Each new uniform started off sized for your typical human. At two meters in height, it always seemed to take a few minutes for a fresh suit to believe it really had to stretch itself out to the limit.

  “That’s a damned good idea, sir,” I said.

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  Graves hustled me up the hallway to a door at the end. I could tell I was still inside Central, and the stale cold air of the hallway told me I was probably underground on one of the countless lab levels.

  What happened next made me feel a little bad, but really, I argued internally, Graves had brought it upon himself. Honestly, you just can’t tell a man like myself that you’re going to execute him and expect him to stand around waiting for it to happen.

  If his had been a standard execution, mind you, I wouldn’t have cared much. But it was the permanent part of the equation I didn’t like. I wasn’t overly-attached to one carpet of human skin or another. If I died, well, so be it.

  But no one likes the idea of ceasing to exist without at least being given a fighting chance. At that point, regulations, orders and the like all became moot to me.

  I reflected as I tripped him up that Veteran Harris would have known better than to let his guard down around me. He would have expected a fight. Harris had tried to kill me personally a lot more times, after all, than Graves had.

  Graves pitched forward with a grunt, and I landed a knee on his spine to keep him down. I reflected how unusual of a situation this was. I’d never tangled with Graves like this before. It felt wrong to me, somehow. I regretted each hammer-blow I landed on the back of his thick skull.

  Graves, however, wasn’t a lightweight. Long after a man should have given up, he surprised me. He managed to twist his pistol around and fire a shot over his bloody shoulder.

  Damn! That stung! I’d been burned in the throat.

  I was seriously impressed. What a fine shot he’d managed to make, given the circumstances. He’d nailed me in a vital region even with his face planted on a steel deck and more hard punches on his braincase than most drunks get in a weekend. None of it had taken him out, or spoiled his aim.

  Another man might have called it luck, but not me. I like to give credit where credit is due.

  I rolled off him and lay back against a cold, puff-crete wall. My lungs were burning, and I heard a raspy, gargling sound. It was me, trying to draw a breath and failing.

  I knew I was a goner even before Graves climbed painfully back to his feet. His face, and the back of his scalp were a mess. Between desperate breaths, he pointed his pistol at me.

  With my right index finger, I swizzled up a load of blood from my larynx. I couldn’t talk or breathe, but I had a little time left before I passed out.

  I traced out letters on the steel floor. They were smeared, dark—almost black. Lots of people think blood is red, but really, it’s almost black when you get a lot of it all at once and it starts to dry.

  Graves watched me spelling. He didn’t fire, and that was a good thing. Maybe he was curious, or maybe he thought it was only right that a defeated man be allowed to write his own epitaph—as long as he kept it short, mind you.

  What I wrote made him frown.

  “I remember?” he asked. “You remember what, McGill?”

  But that was it for me. I sagged over and slumped, eyes staring.

  I’ve died any number of times, and I can assure you that’s what was happening to me right then.

  -10-

  It was a man named Claver who’d taught me the trick of getting pissed-off people to revive you. He’d said he kept coming back to life, despite all odds, by teasing his killers with a hint of information and leaving them wanting more.

  It was like show-business, in a way. If your audience wanted a repeat performance, why, by damn, they’d come back later on and pay to see it again.

  Coming out of the revival machine this time around, I was a bit more concerned. Was this all a waste of time?

  “He seems groggy, and his numbers are off,” the bio said.

  “I don’t care,” said a familiar, gravelly voice. “As long as he can talk, I’m taking him out of here.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Graves again? Great.

  “Sir?” asked another voice, one that was depressingly familiar. “Let me get him moving for you. There will be no more funny business this time around.”

 
; “Suit yourself, Harris. But don’t kill him until I give the order.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, Primus!”

  They soon had me off the table and staggering out the door.

  The two men half-dragged me down the hallway. I let my feet flop and twist. Why not? This sorry version of James McGill might as well enjoy every moment he had left.

  My eyes cleared before I reached the offices. They thrust another uniform at me, and I struggled to get into it.

  Both men had pistols in their hands. They weren’t taking any more chances with me.

  “Is this to be another public execution, sir?” I asked Graves. “The last one went off the rails.”

  “No,” he said. “We’re done with that. We uploaded my suit-cam files to the Mogwa, proving you’d been killed. Hopefully, that will make them happy—but I doubt it.”

  “Well then…” I said. “Why did you get me started with breathing again?”

  “You may not remember, but the last version of James McGill indicated he remembered what happened on the Mogwa ship. I don’t know how that could be true, but we can’t take any chances. We need intel.”

  “Ah, I get it,” I said. “I’m supposed to tell you—”

  “Excuse me, Primus,” Harris interrupted, “but this is classic horseshit! McGill doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. He’s just going to make up some crap to delay his next killing, and we’re wasting time.”

  Graves looked at him. “I’m distinctly aware of that possibility, Harris. But this is an unusual situation. On the off-chance he knows something, I’ve been ordered to—”

  Right about then, the situation took a radical turn. I know I didn’t see it coming—even though it was apparently my idea.

  A figure appeared behind Graves and Harris.

  I was sitting on the floor in front of them, minding my own business. The room flickered, but I don’t think they noticed. They weren’t as attuned to teleportation effects, not having taken as many jaunts into the blue as I had.

  What gained my full attention, however, was the figure himself. He was undeniably familiar and menacing.

  Tall, suited in a costume of dark mesh, I found him an imposing figure. No wonder people were leery when I came near.

  The figure was none other than James McGill. He was some other copy of James McGill from the past, of course. Probably the one who’d ported out into deep space and caused some kind of serious interplanetary ruckus with his actions.

  Quick as a cat, he shot both Harris and Graves. They only had time to follow my shocked gaze and look around behind them before they caught a quick ride through the revival machine.

  “Damn,” I said. “That was nice shooting, James the former.”

  “Thank you—you’re too kind, James the latter,” said the other.

  He stepped forward warily and crouched in front of me. I could tell he had a healthy respect for himself, as it were. It made me feel a puff of pride. Even unarmed and sitting on a steel deck, I was enough to make another armed version of myself worry.

  “The question now,” the intruder said, “is what are we going to do about me and you?”

  “This is a whole new area of Galactic Law we’re breaking right now,” I agreed.

  “Yes it is,” he agreed.

  I thought about it for a few seconds, eyeing my older self. He wasn’t in good shape. He looked burned, somehow.

  After about ten seconds, I came to a clear conclusion.

  “You should probably just shoot me and report in,” I said. “They’ll want the cam feed that your suit recorded, that’s for certain. I’m just a copy who knows nothing useful.”

  He nodded. “I was thinking along those lines,” he admitted. “But it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

  “Tell me,” I said, “and talk fast.”

  He began talking, and I began listening. The longer we talked, the more concerned I became.

  The situation was complicated.

  A team of hogs showed up and began hammering on the door just as we were finishing up our little talk. I reached for Graves’ fallen gun, but my copy shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “No sense in us both getting killed—again.”

  “Okay… You going out in a blaze of glory?”

  “That’s the plan. I’m screwed anyway. I did mention the radiation, didn’t I?”

  He had. One side of his face, in fact, was slagged and peeling. Both his eyes still worked, but one of them didn’t have a full eyelid to close over it anymore. He figured he’d already gotten enough rads to kill a gorilla, and it was just a matter of time.

  The older James threw open the door roughly, making it bang against the wall.

  I don’t know quite what the hog security team was expecting to see, but I’m pretty sure that the other me wasn’t even on the list of possibilities.

  James loomed large, pistol raised, and he shot the first hog in the face. A second head popped into view, and he shot that too.

  The rest of them scrambled to the sides and clawed out their weapons. Stupid hogs. They should have had their weapons in their hands before they hammered on the door.

  The situation was unfair, really. James McGill was fully in the fight, more than willing to die just for the cussedness of it. But the hogs still valued their own skins. It’s hard to fight a skilled man who doesn’t care if he lives or dies—ask anyone who’s done it.

  Before it was over, five hogs lay dead in the hallway. That was damned good killing. The total body count was seven, including Harris and Graves.

  Damned fine.

  When the other James was down and out at last, they came in for me. I was still sitting on the floor, but I was clapping now.

  “Did you see that?” I asked a hog veteran. “He was hurt to begin with, too!”

  The veteran put his pistol into my face. I didn’t flinch, but I did look him in the eye.

  “That was a copy of you, wasn’t it, McGill?” he asked, his sides heaving.

  “I think you might be right.”

  They hustled me to my feet, and I walked out with my head held high. They watched me like I was some kind of wild animal. I suppose that was only natural. Under the proper circumstances, I was capable of some pretty awful behavior.

  The next stage of my day was the best of all. I got to preside over the rebirth of Harris and Graves.

  When they came back to life, coughing and sputtering, I clapped them on the back like old friends.

  “You missed it, Harris,” I said. “That was some fine shooting. Best I’ve ever done. Seven dead, and all of it done with one bad eye.”

  “Fuck you, McGill,” he managed to croak out.

  Despite my welcoming attitude, they were both madder than puffed toads.

  -11-

  If anything, Graves had an even worse attitude than Harris once he was breathing again. He reached for the nearest available weapon with trembling fingers.

  “Let’s not start all that again, Primus,” I said.

  “Don’t listen to this crazy ape, sir!” Harris called out. “Put him down, quick-like!”

  “You killed me, McGill... “ Graves snarled at me. “You son of a bitch—I’m your superior officer!”

  “Yes sir, that’s all quite true—and yet at the same time it isn’t so. I, the person standing here before you, am innocent of that heinous crime. On behalf of that other psychotically disturbed and guilty version of myself, I must apologize profusely—and if it helps console you, your sacrifice wasn’t made in vain, sir.”

  “What are you blathering about?” he asked, narrowing his eyes to suspicious slits.

  “Just what I said, sir. This new version of McGill you see before you has it all. I’m in perfect condition, unlike the one that died in a glorious battle with a squad of hogs. I’m also in possession of several key facts that you, and all of Earth, need to know.”

  “That shit again?” Harris demanded angrily. “The last time you said that, your copy came
in and shot us!”

  “That will not happen again Veteran Harris,” I insisted.

  I quickly filled Graves in on recent events while he dressed and cinched up his uniform, peering at me with skepticism the whole while. Both he and Harris seemed to be in sour moods, but I didn’t think the situation warranted it.

  “So,” Graves said, “one version of you came back here hours late and injured.”

  “That’s right, I came back. Mission accomplished!”

  “Hardly,” Graves complained. “You haven’t even told me what that other version of McGill told you.”

  “That’s the critical part,” I admitted. “But I need to get your agreement first that we are square. These hogs here are holding me under false arrest. This version of McGill hasn’t done a damned thing.”

  “We don’t need anything from McGill,” Harris said. “His suit recorders will tell us everything.”

  One of the hogs, the one who was hanging onto my left arm, spoke up at that. “We can’t do that veteran. We already tried. The teleport suit was damaged and all data was lost.”

  Graves looked at me with bitter suspicion. I shrugged in response.

  “We could torture it out of him,” Harris suggested.

  “No…” Graves said, considering the idea. “He would just lie to us, and it would waste a lot of time.”

  He sighed at last in irritation. “All right, McGill. What do you want for your report?”

  “Nothing special. All I need is my rank restored and all my crimes—known and unknown—forgiven.”

  “That’s way too big of an ‘ask’.”

  “Yeah…” I said, not bothering to argue. “How about this then? Just forget whatever I did for the last six hours or so? The whole mission.”

  Graves rolled his head back. “All right. But no holding back. Tell me what you know.”

  “It went like this, Primus—” I began, but Harris objected again.

  “Primus,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for this! He’s just going to make up some wild story. He doesn’t know shit from crab cakes about any Mogwa ship!”

  I was beginning to get tired of Harris and his bad attitude. He’d never enjoyed anything more than seeing me executed, but it seemed like he was pushing his luck today. I made a mental note to help him change his mind if I got the chance.